Seven’s Story By Traci Thompson
by yoplait2000
Summary: Set after "Two", "A Doc By Any Other Name" and "Lady in Red" By Traci Thompson and Susan S. McCrackin
1. Chapter 1

Howdy y'all! Here's the first installment of a new story, told from Seven's point of view. It's set after the other stories I've done and posted here ("Two," "A Doc By Any Other Name," and last one was "Lady in Red.")

Seven's Story

By Traci Thompson and Susan S. McCrackin

Summary: The Doctor loses his memory and Seven learns to love. Set after "Lady in Red."

Disclaimer: Star Trek Voyager and related characters belong to Paramount, not me, etc.

Wanna archive? Feel free.

* * * * *

Seven of Nine, Personal Log.

The events of the past few weeks have been many. I will try to record them as accurately as possible.

At 0800 hours, I purged the Doctor's program of unnecessary subroutines. This was to prepare him for transmission to a medical conference on a nearby K-class planet. Subroutines removed for later restoration were singing, dancing, command, and astrometrical knowledge. Sexual subroutines were also removed, as I was confident he would not be requiring them.

The Doctor would have preferred a physical transport, but distance made this impractical. News of the conference reached him belatedly. He became agitated at the prospect of not attending. I suggested a data transfer. He agreed to this procedure rather than miss the event.

I was relieved, as he has a tendency to sulk when disappointed.

The Doctor expressed regret at my inability to accompany him. I stated that it was acceptable since I had work to do, but assured him that I would look forward to his return.

He kissed me before I transferred his program. His displays of affection are very pleasant.

His absence was accentuated by the cessation of floral arrangements. Their absence was oddly more distracting than their presence. I have begun to feel that flowers are not entirely irrelevant. The Doctor's absence also disrupted my daily schedule, which I found annoying. I began to go to the holodeck at our planned time before recalling he would not be there.

I experienced the sensation of missing him. It was unpleasant.

The Doctor's absence from the conference was first noted at 1100 hours. At this time, Voyager received a transmission from the head of the conference committee expressing concern that our Chief Medical Officer had disappeared, and inquiring if we knew his whereabouts.

At this moment I became fearful for the Doctor's welfare. Captain Janeway was also concerned. She questioned me about the nature of the transference, and I assured her that the procedure had been successfully completed. If he was abducted, it was not during transmission.

An away team headed by Security Officer Tuvok was sent to investigate. I was not a participant. I was concerned by the fact that it would take the team two days to reach the location. In the interim, I found it difficult to concentrate on my work. The feeling of loneliness produced by the Doctor's absence was not completely unlike separation from the Collective. Obviously less mentally traumatic, yet strangely more persistant.

The mission was moderately successful. The away team managed to locate one individual who did see the Doctor and could give a description of the species he conversed with prior to his disappearance. I am familiar with this species. It is species 469. Name: Deleon. Characteristics: cunning, especially in business transactions. Often establish symbiotic trade relationships with other species. Somewhat nomadic. Gain materials for barter by legal and illegal means. Addition of perfection to the Collective was negligible.

Scans were begun for the EMH signature and species 469. Captain Janeway attempted to console me. It made me uncomfortable. I dislike discussing my emotions under such circumstances. In an attempt to end the conversation, I assured her I was sure everything possible was being done.

At night I was unable to regenerate. I was compelled to go to Sickbay and sit at the Doctor's desk. It was an illogical action. However, looking at the holo-image of the Doctor with Lewis Zimmerman was comforting. There is also a holo-image of me.

Scans eventually revealed a ship carrying members of species 469 orbiting an M-class planet. The ship was hailed and Captain Janeway engaged in an investigative dialogue. They denied knowledge of our EMH. Scans of the planet, however, revealed a holographic signature.

I experienced illogical anger. This feeling is familiar to me. Therefore, it is not as disturbing on an intellectual level as other emotions inevitably are.

Further investigation uncovered a third party of a species unfamiliar to me. This individual claimed knowledge of species 469 engaging in criminal activity on the planet. It was suspected that this group may have had a need of a medical nature, leading to the theft of our Doctor.

Confronted with our suspicions, species 469 became hostile. Scans were unable to confirm with one hundred percent accuracy that the holographic signature belonged to our Doctor. Therefore, a mission to the surface was deemed necessary.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

Confronted with our suspicions, species 469 became hostile. Scans were unable to confirm with one hundred percent accuracy that the holographic signature belonged to our Doctor. Therefore, a mission to the surface was deemed necessary.

* * * * *

I intended to participate. I was weary of the tedium aboard ship and of the constant distraction from my work in Astrometrics. I also felt desire to be a part of the process leading to the Doctor's retrieval.

I missed him a great deal.

I may have unconsciously projected these feelings, because I believe Lieutenant Torres noticed them. She spoke to me before I left with the away team. She asked me if I had expressed my feelings for the Doctor verbally - "Have you told him you love him?" were her words. I dreaded another awkward conversation but the Lieutenant was insistent. I explained that I was still ambivalent about the nuances of the idea and would not make such a declaration unless I was certain it was correct. Lieutenant Torres replied that she thought I did love the Doctor but might be "afraid to admit it." She stressed that time is fleeting. She imparted the benefit of her own experience by relating how she declined to express love to Lieutenant Paris until both were near expiration. She hoped I would not do the same. That it might be too late already, if the Doctor's program had been corrupted or altered. This thought was disturbing.

She said I should "give into love, because resistance to it is futile."

Her reasoning was only somewhat logical. Finding it flawed, I merely stated that her opinion was noted and terminated the conversation.

This time the away team consisted of only Tuvok and myself. Scans showed the holographic signature to be on the western side of the southernmost continent, a remote and heavily shielded area. Our presence would be detected quickly by their sensors. Therefore, we determined to land out of range and travel to the location on foot. It was an inefficient but necessary course of action, and by it we hoped to gain an element of surprise.

I suggested we contact Voyager. Tuvok's opinion was that we first determine if the Doctor was truly on the planet. I agreed.

We landed and waited for nightfall before proceeding towards the source of the holographic signal. We worked around the perimeter of the shielding under cover of darkness. The terrain was rough and progress slow.

The acuity of vision provided by my optical implant was a great advantage. Otherwise I would not have observed the Deleon security team that entered a cave-like geological formation and emerged from it into the shielded area.

We glanced at each other. In that manner we communicated a decision to follow. Tuvok and I have a certain understanding. He is orderly. I can always trust him to behave logically.

We approached the cave entrance cautiously. We hoped to avoid detection. Encountering no other life forms nor opposition, we proceeded into the entrance.

The interior was a short tunnel leading to the shielded area. Tuvok attempted to contact Voyager. He found that communications were non-operative.

We paused to consider our options. While planning further action, my auditory processor detected approaching voices. The aliens had unfortunately discovered us.

We quickly retreated back towards the entrance. However, a Deleon emerged from that direction and fired his weapon.

The aliens had appeared primitive by every indication, their use of projectile weaponry being one example. I was in front of Tuvok and therefore I experienced firsthand knowledge of this weaponry. The projectile lodged in my upper leg. The quality of the pain surprised me. I am now certain that damage by a phaser or other non-projectile weapon is preferable.

I was unable to completely supress a vocal reaction. My weakness is a constant plague.

Tuvok shot the alien and escaped injury. He assisted me out of the cave. Once we emerged, he fired his phaser at rocks above the opening, causing them to collapse the entrance.

Tuvok attempted to examine my wound. He expressed frustration at being without a medical tricorder. I informed him that I believed the damage to be serious. I could feel the blood vacating my body at an alarming rate. Tuvok removed the sleeve from his uniform and utilized it as a tourniquet. It was ineffective.

He helped me to stand, but my weakness prevailed and I began to feel faint. We were too far, I knew, from the shuttle for me to reach it in this condition. My auditory processor could detect the sound of the Deleons' efforts to break through the barrier.

Tuvok stated he would assist the Deleons. I opposed this plan. I told him to return to the shuttle instead and contact Voyager. He resisted, saying I needed immediate medical attention. I argued that it was preferable for one of us to escape. I assured him I would do whatever was necessary to survive.

There was a moment of indecision. He was reluctant to leave me. However, as I have stated, I can always trust Tuvok to behave logically. He complied.

The Deleons' emergence was imminent. I began to crawl - drag may be the more appropriate term - towards the cave entrance. It was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain consciousness.

I only vaguely felt the sensation of being lifted. I struggled to summon strength. I wanted to be aware for as long as possible, although endorphin production was ceasing and the pain was becoming unendurable.

The aliens carried me to their medical facility. I was extremely grateful for my enhanced auditory perception. I heard his voice, unmistakeably, even before entering. I felt a certain relief.

They brought me in and I saw the Doctor's look of surprise. I wished to speak to him, but my vocal subprocessor was no longer functioning properly. When I felt his hands on me I gave in to my humanity. I allowed myself the release of unconciousness.

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you, everyone, for your positive comments so far! And now for part 3...

* * * * *

They brought me in and I saw the Doctor's look of surprise. I wished to speak to him, but my vocal subprocessor was no longer functioning properly. When I felt his hands on me I gave in to my humanity. I allowed myself the release of unconciousness.

* * * * *

I awoke to pain. I had not been repaired. I surmised that the Deleons' medical facilities must also be primitive. I sat up. The Doctor was across the room. I called his name.

He came immediately. "Lie still," he said. He explained that he had done the best he could, but as I had suspected, the technology available to him was inadequate. As I would have expected, his superior programming was offended. "I'm a doctor, not a magician! They give me a toothpick and expect me to build Monticello," he complained, more to himself than to me.

He re-examined my wound. Then he gave me an intravenous injection using a hypodermic needle. "You should try to rest," he said. "I want to ask you a few questions later." He walked away.

I did not expect this behavior. Lack of behavior may be more accurate. His manner towards me was not affectionate, nor even friendly. It was strictly professional, and negatively more than professional. I was quite certain that his ethical subroutines had not been deleted. Even so, I detected a measure of hostility towards me. I would have understood this behavior if the aliens had been present, but we were alone. I became suspicious.

"Doctor," I said.

He turned towards me. "Yes?" he answered. His expression was not one I have grown accustomed to seeing.

"We must plan an escape." He stared at me. I continued. "I am glad I have found you. Your absence has been unpleasant."

He answered, without recognition, "I beg your pardon?"

I was disheartened. His programming had been altered. I felt more disheartened than I would have anticipated. I realized the high importance I had placed on this reunion. I had been looking forward to his attentions. I have grown accustomed to them.

The cause of his memory loss was easily explained. My resulting emotions were not. I stated the obvious. "You do not know me."

"Hardly. I'm afraid I'm not in the habit of fraternizing with the Borg," he answered. "_You_, however, obviously have had contact with both them and my crew!"

"Explain," I said.

"I'm sure you know very well that you have Borg implants, _and_ that you were wearing a Starfleet combadge when you were brought here. What I want to know is _why_," he said. He was angry. His words had a hissing quality.

"I am a member of the crew aboard the Federation Starship Voyager," I stated.

He made a snorting sound. "You're either delusional, or lying. A _Borg_, even one only eighteen percent Borg as you seem to be, a member of Captain Janeway's crew? I don't think so."

I was grateful he had at least some memory of Voyager. "I am being truthful," I said. "You are the Emergency Medical Hologram aboard the Federation Starship Voyager.

You were abducted. Your memory subroutines have been altered."

"What have you done with Voyager's crew? Have they been assimilated?" he shouted.

"No. They - we - have been searching for you," I informed him.

He looked at me askance. "Well, you're obviously not a normal drone, and you certainly don't _look_ like a murderer, but 'Once a Borg, always a Borg,' so I've heard. You _do_ realize I'm a hologram, don't you? You can't assimilate _me_."

I took a deep breath. Hearing these words was difficult. "I do not wish to assimilate anyone. Captain Janeway liberated me from the Collective," I said.

"_Liberated_ you from the Collective?" he repeated. "You certainly weren't on board when I left. You expect me first to believe that my captain would recruit a Borg, and secondly that I've forgotten about it?" he said.

"Yes," I said.

He was suspicious, but seemed to be considering the possibility that I was being truthful. "I have another patient to treat. You really should try to get some rest," he said, after a pause. He exited the room.

I was left alone to feel...whatever emotions I was feeling. They were unpleasant. He did not remember nor believe me. It was illogical to think he should.

When I was first liberated from the Collective, the feelings of others were irrelevant. I had no need to be thought well of. I believe I still do not. I do not crave attention and acceptance as the Doctor does.

However, I seem to have developed a need for _his_ approval. His suspicion, his disdain for me, was disturbing. I do not normally react in this manner. I wondered if the cause was perhaps the stark contrast between his hostility and the affection I had hoped to receive.

These thoughts were unproductive. I determined to cease thinking them immediately.

I attempted to develop in my mind a further line of questioning to determine the extent of damage to the Doctor's program. It would be uncomfortable conversing with him in his altered state. Doing so would undoubtedly cause me a degree of emotional pain.

I would need to tell him of our time together. Perhaps not of our intimate relationship - doing so would undoubtedly be futile - but at least of our friendship. Our friendship had been important to me. Relating this to him would possibly convince him of my sincerity. I needed his cooperation to escape our predicament.

Once we returned to Voyager, his memory subroutines - he - would be restored.

But I felt a certain apprehension. The Doctor has often asserted, and justly so, that he is more than the sum of his programming. It was possible that merely restoring his program would not recover... him. The elusive essence of his individuality.

If this occurred, his emotions towards me could potentially be affected. I assured myself that should this scenario become reality, I would adapt.

I was again dwelling on disturbing thoughts. I resolved more forcefully to ignore them.

The injection numbed my wound sufficiently. I proceeded to try to rest as instructed. I found I could not. The feeling of missing him would not cease. It stayed, greater than physical pain, within me.

To be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

And now, for part 4...

* * * * *

The injection numbed my wound sufficiently. I proceeded to try to rest as instructed. I found I could not. The feeling of missing him would not cease. It stayed, greater than physical pain, within me.

* * * * *

The main area I was in was adequately lit, but the extremities and corners remained in shadow. The walls were stone. Being unable to sleep, I performed mental exercises. I counted stones. I categorized them by geologic composition. I imagined rearranging them to create a less chaotic formation. I counted them again.

The Doctor returned and proceeded to review my medical data. He stopped and turned towards me. "What is your name...or designation, as the case may be?" he asked.

"I was born Annika Hansen. After assimilation, my Borg designation was Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix Zero One. I now am known as just Seven," I answered.

He nodded ackowledgement and began to analyze my medical data again. "You certainly have a fascinating physiology," he commented. "Whoever removed your non-vital implants is an extremely skilled surgeon."

"You removed them," I informed him.

He appeared somewhat disturbed. I supposed he was experiencing further indecision as to the nature of my intentions. Then he smiled as he does when he is pleased with himself. "Well, I can't deny that it certainly _does_ look like my handiwork," he said.

An appeal to his ego never fails. His conceit is exasperating, but also occasionally induces mirth.

"You restored me to my human appearance," I said. "At first I was angry."

"I take that to mean you no longer feel that way?" he inquired.

I answered, "No, I do not. Much has occured since then."

He scrutinzed me. "Let's pretend for a moment that I believe you. Tell me how you supposedly came to be on Voyager."

I related the events. Then I said, "Now tell me what you recall. I require the information to determine the extent of damage to your program."

"Well, I suppose there's no harm in playing along," he said. "You're certainly not going anywhere, and eventually Voyger _will_ locate me. Then I'll know for sure what's going on." He moved a chair closer to me and sat in it. "What exactly do you want to know?"

Our conversation progressed as follows.

"What is the last thing you remember?"

"I was rudely deactivated mid-sentence, as usual. The next thing I knew I was here."

"We surmised the Deleons have a need to a medical nature and abducted you to fill that need. Is this correct?"

"Yes. Their head thug is badly injured." He rolled his eyes.

"What events took place the week prior to your deactivation?"

"Umm...several of the crew got sick on leola root. I isolated a protein that will help me invent a cure for several varieties of flu. We survived a nasty distortion phenomenon."

"Have you been treated well?" I ventured to ask.

He again made a snorting sound. "Define _well_. Frankly, it's not been much different here than on Voyager. I'm just a hologram. It's the same for me no matter where I am."

His face showed frustration. I felt compassion for him. Then he began to look as he often does when we spend time together. I had not expected to see this expression.

"Well, there _is_ one person on board who acts as if she really cares about my feelings. Kes - I assume you know her, if you're telling the truth - Kes has always been kind to me. She's a wonderful friend. I didn't even realize holograms could have friends until Kes showed me I could. She's been very encouraging. Because of her, I'm trying to expand my program, explore my potential...I'm even thinking of naming myself! I told her recently I thought she was beautiful. It's embarrassing - I was definitely not my usual program at the time - but she took it well. Kes is..."

Something inside me reacted. I interrupted this irrelevant discourse. "Kes left Voyager."

"Left? But she's my assistant! Why?" he demanded.

"Her molecules destabilized and she transformed into an energized lifeform. She abandoned ship. She later returned. She attempted to betray Voyager to the Vidiians."

He became angry. "What?" He arose from the chair. "Do you expect me to believe that? We are her friends...Kes would never do that to us - to me! I refuse to listen to you slander the best - the _only_ - friend I've ever had!"

"You and I are friends," I stated.

He opened his mouth as if about to speak. Then he merely stared at me. He left.

The complete illogicality of emotions never ceases to surprise me. "You and I are friends," I re-stated in a strange voice, to the empty room, without knowing why.

To be continued...


	5. Chapter 5

* * * * *

The complete illogicality of emotions never ceases to surprise me. "You and I are friends," I re-stated in a strange voice, to the empty room, without knowing why.

* * * * *

My fatigue was great enough by this time to induce sleep.

I dreamed. The imprecision of the subconscious is maddening. I dreamed of the color red and of darkness. Of _Rondine al Nido_ and force-fields I could not overcome. Of petals opening on my skin, exploding stars, and the odor of hidden caves. I dreamed of the Borg and the last kiss. These impressions pulsed through my brain and body, over and over.

I awakened. I found my leg was throbbing.

I was uncomfortable. I tried to adjust my position to allow for relief. It was futile. I was also hungry. I forced myself to focus my attention elsewhere.

The Doctor had returned while I slept. He saw I was awake. He came to me. His manner was subdued.

"I'm sorry you are hurting," he said. "I can give you something else that will help a little." He looked worriedly at my wound. "I wish there was more I could do," he said in a frustrated voice.

"I will be fine," I said. My voice sounded unsteady. The fact that my weakness was so evident was more painful than the wound.

The Doctor had anticipated my need and offered me some sort of food. I would have preferred my optimally-blended liquid nutritional supplement. Or cheesecake. Having no such options, I proceeded to consume what was presented.

He noticed my lack of enthusiasm. "I don't know what it is either," he said. "If, as you claim, you've been on Voyager and survived Neelix's cooking, this shouldn't cause you any problems. I can't vouch for the taste, however."

"It is acceptable," I stated. "Although I admit I prefer cheesecake." I looked at my spoon and recalled how the Doctor rapturously licked his utensil - with _my_ tongue - when he had cheesecake. "You also like cheesecake," I informed him.

He had turned away from me. This information re-commanded his attention. His eyes narrowed. "Ah-ha! You _are_ lying, about Kes and everything else! I knew it! Forgot I was a hologram for a moment, didn't you? Even if all your Borg perfection has worn off, I still wouldn't think you'd..."

He ceased speaking. I had taken a bite. I was chewing. He was staring at my mouth. He blinked. I swallowed.

"Doctor?" I said. I began to be self-conscious. I wondered if something was wrong with my appearance.

When he spoke, his voice was awed and astonished. "I _have_ had cheesecake," he said. "I remember eating..." Then he was incredulous. "But that's impossible!"

"It is not," I said. "I have often downloaded your program into my cybernetic matrix to allow you sensory experiences." He stared at me.

"How you are recalling the sensory information is the question," I said. I considered the possibilities. "You experienced the sensation of eating while in my body. These experiences must have been stored in your sensory subroutines, and watching me eat caused the memory of them to resurface," I theorized.

The Doctor continued to stare at me. I could tell he was becoming convinced of my truthfulness. My hope rose. I determined to convince him further.

"Would you like to finish my meal?" I asked him.

"Wh...What?" he said, beginning to look suspicious again.

"Would you like to finish my meal. I can download your program into my cybernetic matrix and prove I am telling you the truth." He appeared somewhat fearful. "I will not hurt you," I assured him. "You may even enjoy the experience. I imagine the memory you are having of eating is a pleasant one."

"Yes, it is," he said, as if surprised that I knew this.

"You enjoy eating," I stated.

I remained silent and watched him attempt to decide. His curiosity overcome his wariness, and he said, "Alright."

I moved to leave the bed. "I require your assistance," I said.

The pain of bearing weight on my injured leg was immense. I detest being weak enough to require such assistance. Nevertheless, it would have been illogical to ignore my need. I

leaned into the Doctor. I found his close physical proximity comforting.

He supported me and we moved towards the computer console. I inserted my assimilation tubules and performed the download.

He was suddenly in control. I felt an immense relief of body and mind. Of body, because although I could still feel the pain of my leg, he was bearing it with me. Of mind, because I had missed him and had wished for closeness to him. Sharing this intimacy was our special kind of closeness. I wished fervently that he could remember me.

My mouth opened and a strangled cry came from it. He was experiencing my pain. My leg gave way and he grabbed the edge of the console.

I feared he could not bear it, being so innocent of physical discomfort. However, after a few moments he seemed to adjust somewhat. He managed to limp to the bed. He turned his attention to my food. It was unremarkable, but he consumed it slowly, enjoying it as I knew he would. I believe he would enjoy consuming almost anything.

After he finished my meal, he examined me. His familiar exuberant wonder was evident. He looked at my hands, touched my face and my Borg implants, and sniffed the damp air. He licked my lips and wiggled my toes.

Eventually he sighed and made his - my - way carefully back to the console. He downloaded himself back into the computer. I was again alone in my body.

I brought him back online. "The taste, the _feelings_...they're so _amazing_!" he marveled.

Then he looked at me with a new wonder and a new concern. "Seven, I knew you were in pain, but I had no idea...you haven't cried, haven't complained..." he said.

This was the first time during this ordeal that he had used my name. "I dislike being weak," I informed him. I did not know how to adequately explain.

I was gripping the edge of the console in order to remain upright. "Let's get you off your feet," he said, moving to take my arm. He helped settle me in bed again. He propped up my leg, saying that elevating it might help. He gave me another dose of pain medication.

He lingered by the bed. He was evidently engaged in an internal struggle. Finally he admitted, "Everything you've said _- _it _is_ possible." He distanced his focus from me, holding his mouth tightly in his habitual way. Looking back he continued. "I don't remember you, and I certainly don't want to believe what you said about Kes. But if you really _are_ telling the truth about Kes, then I've lost a friend...and I would prefer not to lose another."

"You believe I am your friend," I said.

"Certainly anyone who would let a hologram utilize her body for sensory experiences must be the best kind of friend," he replied. His voice was kind.

I nodded acceptance of his apology. Lonely in my damaged body, I missed him anew.

He pulled the chair close again. "Suppose we try talking again. This time you tell me what I've missed - maybe it will help take your mind off your leg. Alternative therapy, if you will. But please, accentuate the positive. If anyone's died or left, I don't think I want to know."

"Acknowledged," I said.

"So, how did you and I become friends?" he asked with a slight smile.

"We have much in common. We both strive to gain and regain humanity. We are different from the rest of the crew. You have stated that we both have our patience tested by inferior lifeforms," I said.

"_That_ is definitely the truth," he muttered. "Especially, of late, by these blockheaded aliens. Of course, everyone says I'm just rude."

"When I first came aboard, Lieutenant Torres said _I_ was rude."

He snorted. "Oh, _she's_ one to talk!"

"You said there was a realm of good taste begging for my acquaintance."

"Oh." He looked sheepish. "I see we must not have hit it off immediately. I hope I didn't offend you," he said.

"You did not. Many others were afraid of me. You were not afraid to talk to me or disagree with me. You were friendly to me when others were not. You taught me a great deal," I said. Despite the pain medication, my leg began to throb again.

"You mean I was like...a mentor?" he asked.

"When I became a member of Voyager's crew, I was unaccustomed to human social interaction. I had trouble relating to others. You gave me lessons to help me improve my social skills." I felt the throbbing in my entire body, including my head. My optical implant pounded with each heartbeat.

"A hologram, giving an organic social lessons? Fascinating." He pondered the possibility.

"Well, come to think of it, I _do_ have a great deal of accumulated wisdom I could impart to an eager student."

"You taught me how to have a conversation. How to use conventional pleasantries. How to behave at social gatherings."

The pain ground in my head. The pulsing in my leg persisted. The Doctor was listening with great interest. Therefore, I continued.

"You have helped me learn to appreciate art and food, and to enjoy recreational activities. You taught me to dance and to sing." I thought of how we had danced. I remembered the first time. How my heart had beaten quickly, as it did now, but then out of fear of the unknown. How he had taken my miserable evening and turned it into a sweetly pleasurable memory. How every time after had been the same.

"Dance and sing? I'm not programmed to do that!"

"Your programming is highly adaptive," I explained. "You developed an interest in the arts - painting, poetry, music. Your favorite is opera, but you also enjoy early American tunes, jazz, swing, and songs from musicals. We often sing together."

I was growing tired. Tired not only physically, but also of explaining how we enjoyed each other's company. I simply wanted him to remember. Remember what we were to each other. He was enamored of himself, of what he had not known he had become. I could understand this pride of accomplishment. But he used to also be enamored of me.

I despised feeling this way. I despised myself for needing his attention to this degree.

"Would you sing something now?" he asked. "Perhaps it would be like eating...maybe it would trigger a buried memory subroutine."

"I do not think that will happen. However, I will sing for you." I sang the first song that came to mind.

_You were once my one companion_

_You were all that mattered _

_You were once a friend and father _

_Then my world was shattered_

_Wishing you were somehow here again  
Wishing you were somehow near  
Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed  
Somehow you would be here...  
Passing bells and sculpted angels  
Cold and monumental  
Seem for you the wrong companions  
You were warm and gentle_

My throat constricted. My chest became tight, and I simultaneously felt nauseous. It is not normal for songs to cause me to have emotional reactions. I knew my physical and emotional distress were each causing the other to escalate. Possessing this knowledge did not help.

"I do not wish to sing anymore," I said. I turned my face away. "I do not feel well."

The Doctor was up immediately. "I'm sorry," he said. "I've let you go on too long...I hope I haven't overexerted you. I just...it's just so interesting, listening to all these things I've done and don't remember. It's so inspiring, to think what I have the potential for! But you need to rest. I know you must somehow regenerate your Borg implants, and you obviously can't here, so you must try to sleep as much as possible until Voyager rescues us. I'm going to give you something to help you sleep."

To be continued...


	6. Chapter 6

The Doctor was up immediately. "I'm sorry," he said. "I've let you go on too long...I hope I haven't overexerted you. I just...it's just so interesting, listening to all these things I've done and don't remember. It's so inspiring, to think what I have the potential for! But you need to rest. I know you must somehow regenerate your Borg implants, and you obviously can't here, so you must try to sleep as much as possible until Voyager rescues us. I'm going to give you something to help you sleep."

* * * * *

I slept long, but fitfully.

Disturbing dreams again intruded into my mind. I dreamed of ravens, as I often do. I dreamed of being lost in a holodeck program that would not end. It was Paris at night...the Sandrine's program. I was alone, running on cobblestones. I could hear my loud footfalls as I ran. They echoed in the empty streets. I was frightened.

I saw the Doctor. I started towards him...but I became even more frightened, which was illogical. I heard a sizzling noise. I looked downward at my hands. My arms and hands faded, then returned. I somehow knew that I was a holographic projection, and the Doctor was real. I turned to run...and was on the edge of the riverbank. I fell...the raven's wings flapped behind me...and I became stone before touching the water. I could not move. My arms were crossed over my chest. I was drowning. The stone was breaking into pieces.

I awoke suddenly, shaking. My teeth were clenched. I was cold and wet.

I slowly realized I was sweating. I dislike perspiring. The cold became heat. I unclenched my teeth enough to call for the Doctor. I tried to keep my voice steady, but it emerged as a moan, even to my own ears.

The Doctor came to the bedside with a hypodermic needle. I did not feel the injection. "I'm afraid you may be developing an infection, despite my best efforts," he said. "You've had a fever for some time now." He looked at the wound. My leg still throbbed. A stinging pain radiated from the center of the injury, yet my leg did not feel attached to my body. His forehead crumpled into many lines as it does when he is worried. "_Damn_, I need a medical tricorder!" he said in a low voice.

"Will I require amputation?" I asked

"No. Certainly not! Not as long as I can help it...not unless your life is threatened," he assured me. 'Surely Voyager will find us before the situation becomes that dire."

He brought me a cup of liquid. "You need to ingest this to replace the fluids you've lost," he said. He helped me sit up in order to drink it. Strands of my hair fell forward into my face. I tried to brush them back.

"I am in need of grooming," I stated when I had finished the drink. I dislike being unkempt. Some of my hair was unruly and some matted from my sweat. Aside from the benefit of keeping one's head warm, I see no purpose for hair. It is an unnecessary adornment. The Doctor would have saved me trouble had he not re-stimulated my hair follicles. He should be grateful that his own creator gave him an efficient head.

"As you can see, I'm not experienced with hair, but I'd be glad to brush it for you if you think it would help you feel better," he offered. "It is true that caring for a patient's appearance can have positive psychological effects, that in turn manifest themselves in the physical."

I nodded consent. He sat on the edge of the bed. He reached behind my head and loosened what remained pulled back. He combed out the hair with his fingers.

He stopped and looked at me strangely. Distracted by my discomfort, I did not notice immediately, but soon realized he was looking at me..._that_ way. In the way he had when he loosened my hair, preparing me for my first date. With the expression he had begun to have when he developed romantic feelings towards me.

I did not move.

Momentarily, his fingers dropped from my hair. He moved away quickly. He appeared uncomfortable. "I...um...excuse me. I need to check on my other patient." He paused. "Try to sleep" he said. He left the room.

I disliked being left alone again. However, I sympathized with what I imagined to be the Doctor's predicament. Emotions are baffling...obscure...confusing.

To be continued...


	7. Chapter 7

Momentarily, his fingers dropped from my hair. He moved away quickly. He appeared uncomfortable. "I...um...excuse me. I need to check on my other patient." He paused. "Try to sleep" he said. He left the room.

I disliked being left alone again. However, I sympathized with what I imagined to be the Doctor's predicament. Emotions are baffling...obscure...confusing.

* * * * *

I attempted to sleep again. What little I managed was erratic and restless. The pain, the heat and cold, and the ache that had settled in my joints would not allow for repose.

I abhor long confinement. The unproductive hours were anathema to me. My body wanted nothing but rest and regeneration. My mind wanted anything else.

I consider daydreams to be irrelevant, but I learned that in certain situations, they can be useful. I lay and imagined the ceiling to be the screen in the astrometrics lab. I charted star systems in my mind.

Eventually, even this became unsatisfactory. Concentration was difficult. I could not keep my thoughts from my bodily weakness. I could not recall feeling such malaise in the time I had been apart from the Collective, and certainly not while joined to it.

The Doctor had not returned. The loneliness...boredom...pain...weakness...added to the other myriad of sensations I was experiencing and resulted in an irrational anger. It drove me to leave my bed. I sought to force my body to overcome its limitations.

A foolish decision, upon reflection.

I somehow justified the decision at the time. I believe I rationalized that exercise would be beneficial. Fever may have clouded my judgment.

I attempted to walk around the room. I considered escape. I held on to objects in the room and analyzed its layout, although movement produced agony.

I had not been engaged in this activity long when I heard a Deleon behind me.

"Going somewhere?" he asked.

I did not answer. He proceeded towards me.

"I came to see how well our Borg is recuperating," he said. "You were an unexpected prize, you know." He laughed. "You have many possible uses."

"State your intentions," I demanded.

"I prefer to show them," he said.

He had advanced; his proximity was entirely too close to me. I tried to retreat, but of course I could not move as quickly as I normally would. I realized what his intentions were before he verbalized them. He wanted to violate me in a sexual manner.

I did not feel fear, only revulsion. Also anger at my helpless state, which I perceived as a kind of failure.

He backed me into the wall in one deft motion. I summoned enough strength to deliver a blow with my augmented hand. It injured his face.

Unfortunately, this did not deter him, but seemed to encourage further attack. He pressed himself against me and pinned my arms to the wall. He was repulsive. His leg made contact with my wound and caused a level of pain I had not imagined possible. I suppressed a cry with difficulty; I did not want to offer the satisfaction of a reaction.

He ran his hands over my body. I looked him in the eye and did not respond. This angered him further; he gripped my face tightly in his hand. His breath was hot and putrid as he called me a "Borg ice princess."

I contemplated wounding him further with my uninjured leg and foot, but did not, fearing further harm to myself. Although further harm appeared to be coming regardless.

I regretted my weakened state as never before. I began to involuntarily tremble with the effort of remaining upright. I attempted to detach myself from feeling and forced myself to stare at him. I conveyed as much disgust as possible through my eyes.

If well, I could - and would - have easily eliminated him. As it was, I was forced to consider other alternatives - a distraction, or any object I could reach with my foot and use as a weapon - while he continued to grope at sensitive areas of my body. The sensation of his manipulation came as a shock; I do not recall ever being touched in those areas by another lifeform. The feeling, in conjunction with the pain and sickness, revived my nausea. I recognized it as a viable distraction. I willed myself to vomit.

"What's going on here??" I heard the Doctor screech.

The Deleon removed his hands from me and turned around. "Hologram," he said with obvious contempt, probably for both the Doctor and his timing. "Don't you have another patient to treat?"

"Get away from - !" The Doctor was rushing towards us. He stopped short. I saw him attempt to suppress his anger. I knew he was fearful of being deactivated; I shared the same fear. No other presence was likely to appear and stop this molestation.

The Doctor's program is capable of profound emotion. Fortunately, he is an excellent actor when the need arises. He began to speak with clinical professionalism. "I have already attended to your superior. Now I need to continue treating this patient. I assume you _do_ want her in the best condition possible for your...purposes," he said with an air of unconcern. "I'm sure your boss would, " he added.

"Keep me informed on her progress," the Deleon said reluctantly.

The Doctor nodded. He watched the alien leave the room. My relief was overwhelming.

I felt dizzy and began to fall.

"Seven - !" he exclaimed, and he caught me. It was nearly an embrace. I suppose it was due to my weakened state of body and mind, but I could not prevent myself from leaning into him as fully as possible. To take again what comfort I could.

It is strange, the revulsion I feel at the touch of others, yet not at the Doctor's. The contrast between this experience and the preceding one was absolute. The Doctor's touch seems to exude a healing quality even when not involved in a medical procedure. Perhaps it is his programming, as he is the only being aboard Voyager that matches or equals my physical strength. Or perhaps his appeal is not only to my humanity, but the mechanical parts of me also find a kinship in his photons and force-fields.

The reason is most likely irrelevant. At that time, I was content to merely accept the fact.

The Doctor was clearly confused and flustered by the physical contact. But he stayed still and held me, seeing that I desired it. The comfort was...I believe I have heard the term _bittersweet_ used for such feelings, as I also desired emotional contact, which his damaged subroutines could not give me.

He moved away after a few moments, saying, "Did he hurt you?"

"No," I said. "But he would have, if you had not returned. Thank you." My thoughts drifted to our social lessons regarding manners. "You taught me to say thank you," I said. I wondered if I was becoming delirious.

"You need to be back in bed," he said. He had something of the strange look in his eyes again. He lifted me. He carried me to the bed and settled me back in it.

He administered several drugs. Then he dimmed the lights. "Doctor," I pleaded, detesting all my weakness, asking regardless. "Please do not leave."

Puzzled, he asked softly, "Are you afraid?"

I felt afraid of many things at that moment. So many that they blended together and I recognized none of them. I answered, "No."

My answer must have been unconvincing. He returned to the bed and sat on its edge. I moved my hand - it felt heavy, from the effects of the drugs - towards him. He took it and held it awkwardly.

I do not know whether the cause was delirium or medication, but I mumbled, "Annika did not like to be alone. She was afraid of the dark," before succumbing to sleep.

To be continued...


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks to all who have made positive comments about this story.

There is one part left after this one.

* * * * *

I do not know whether the cause was delirium or medication, but I mumbled, "Annika did not like to be alone. She was afraid of the dark," before succumbing to sleep.

* * * * *

When I awoke, I wished I had not. The Doctor was injecting a local anesthetic near my wound. An ache in my joints had joined the list of symptoms, all of which were still present. I began to entertain the idea that deactivation was preferable to anguish.

I turned my head to view the procedure. I immediately regretted the action. The bright light shining on the area produced a burning in my retina. Everywhere else was dark. My side furthest from the light was cold. The side closest to the light was hot. Moving caused additional pain. In the midst of it I retained a dull, stupefied sensation. I was now too lethargic to deplore my extreme weakness. Or to fear.

The Doctor looked to me, when I moved. "I am going to open a part of the wound," he explained, "to drain fluid. I'm going to try several approaches, since I can't identify the pathogen." He did not resume immediately, but continued to look at me. His eyes moved over my face. "I did not leave you," he said. He spoke quietly.

It was difficult to talk. I attempted to nod, and to project my gratitude through my expression. It seemed inadequate.

I vaguely noticed that my hair had been brushed and pulled away from my face. He had cared for me while I slept.

"Please tell me more about us, about the things we've done," the Doctor said, without looking up.

It was so arduous to talk, to move. And to think. But I understood he was not seeking to hear of himself now; he wanted to distract me. I complied.

My thoughts came erratically. "Popcorn," I said, and paused. My voice emerged sounding somewhat deep, but also faint and small. "You explained popcorn. Family _Poaceae. _Genus _zea, zea mays mays. _You said it is like snowflakes. Each kernel is unique...like us."

I saw him smile.

"We played golf. I won."

I felt the odd pressure that is pain filtered through anesthesia.

"We observed paintings."

My heart beat as erratically as my thoughts. The pulsating went into every extremity under the numbness and pain and heat and cold.

"We analyzed nebulas...and asterisms...and binary stars."

"It sounds like we've had some good times together," the Doctor said.

"We..." I began.

The scalpel flashed in the light.

I heard the song he had sung in my head.

_In the rain, the pavement shines like silver_

_All the lights are misty in the river_

"We are..."

I thought of his words_. _He had stood in a circle of light. He _was_ light...photons and light..._And I've tried not to feel this way, but I just can't help it, Seven....I just can't..." _

_Let me be your shelter_

_Let me be your light_

"We are good friends," he said, cutting me.

I remembered how the night had been...we had never been so physically close to each other before as we had been then, not even when he had comforted me in Sickbay. The dancing had slowed to a stop. We had hesitated, noses millimeters apart, wanting to breach the gap, both nervous.

"We are more than friends," I said.

I saw him stop. His eyes looked up from my wound. He was as still as if his program had been paused. His mouth was slightly open. His emotions may have been a surprised mixture of anticipation, disconcertment, many others. It was difficult to tell. The shadows fell across his face.

He looked back and resumed. The instrument wavered. I perceived he was struggling to pay attention to his task.

"Tell me," he said simply.

Breathing was difficult and speaking an affliction. Yet I related the events, slowly, one by one....the change in his behavior towards me, the journey through the nebula, the hallucinations, and the holodeck, up to the point of his declaration. He closed my wound.

"I am going to use localized heat to try and kill the pathogen," he said. He covered the injury gently with his hand and began to adjust his temperature.

"You wished to speak to me," I said. I felt the heat from his hand. "I knew you had...feelings for...someone."

The heat increased. My heart hammered in my ears. I began to sweat profusely. He looked at his hand, but his eyes appeared not to be focused on it.

"You stated you loved me," I whispered.

He looked towards me. Mortification and joy intermingled strangely on his face. His emotion seemed to channel through his hand into the heat on my wound.

When he spoke, his voice was full of hope. "Does that mean...that you...love _me_?" he asked.

I believe my heart ceased beating momentarily at this question. Had I not expected to hear it? I had dreaded it since it was first asked. Did I love him. _Love._ I contended with the question, then not wishing to contend with the question, I ceased. More pain. My clouded mind could not quite discern why. I would have fled, if only I could. I gave the answer I had given before.

"At that time, I said I did not know," I replied. "I still do not."

His expression changed to...disappointment, disillusion, embarrassment. "I see," he said. The heat intensified. Then he said stiffly, "No, you couldn't. I - I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked...it's ridiculous to think you would. I don't know why...why I thought..." his voice faltered. "I'm a hologram. I'm not real."

"That is irrelevant," I said. I looked to the ceiling. "I felt...I feel...a certain affection for you. I - I miss you when you are gone," I attempted to explain. The rate of my breathing increased.

"But you don't _love_ me," he said, low and to himself.

My misery compounded. "I do not wish to continue this discussion," I said. I meant it to sound firm, but I almost whimpered the words. _Weakness!_

"Because _love_ is irrelevant," he said bitterly.

My term, returned to me. It burned, as his hand burned my leg. What is love? Love is many things, but _irrelevant_ was hardly accurate. A protest welled up within me. I forced it down.

"I simply do not - understand - love," I panted between breaths. "It is impossible to understand. It is unpredictable - illogical - ..." I began to tremble. My hand gripped the bed. I struggled to remain in control, to not allow my frailty to consume me.

"Hold on just a little longer, Seven," the Doctor said, anxiously soothing. He moved his hand slightly. "I know it hurts...it's almost over."

"...arbitrary - infuriating - those who - love are - they become - just as - other - emotions..." I bit the words. Forced myself not to continue. I was beginning to ramble in my pain and disorientation. To reveal too much. Too much I was certain I did not wish to hear. My head reeled.

The Doctor looked at me. His expression suddenly became the one he had worn when I asked him not to leave me. But it was different as well; he appeared as if he had witnessed a phenomenon he had never seen before. He asked, "Seven, are you afraid?"

"No!" I denied, as forcefully as I could manage. My voice cracked with the strain. "No!" The perspiration ran down my face. I shut my eyes. He was looking into them. I attempted to hide the truth. I knew my eyes would betray me. If only I could have escaped this grief.

But he was relentless. "Seven, are you are afraid to love?" he pressed. My eyes had already disclosed me. He spoke compassionately. "Are you afraid that loving is a kind of weakness? That it's fine for ordinary humans and holograms, but you must be above it?"

His gently probing words invaded me. His hand scalded my wound, his meaning sent white-hot fire to annihilate my heart. All the inner and outer pain, the sensation, the emotion, my need for him, all striving to break me, and yet I endured; but the finality was near, my weakness almost absolute.

"I do - not - wish - to - continue - !" I gasped in despair, battling for any chance at evasion.

The Doctor spoke to me, intense and unheeded. "Seven, it takes a strong person to love, to give of themselves!" he insisted. "I see that love is what is left lacking in your humanity. You can give it. In this short time, you have proven yourself to be the strongest individual I have ever known."

Tears welled in my eye. I compelled them not to fall, even as I trembled violently with the exertion of bearing fire and anguish. I turned my head away from him, towards the darkness, desperate that he not see.

"Oh, Seven..." the Doctor said. "I'm a hologram. You have no need to listen to my opinions on human emotions. But even if you can't love _me_, you must know that love is simply a _gift_, to be received and given. You don't need to understand it."

The heat reached its zenith. I was certain my leg was about to be cauterized from my body. That the pain would momentarily cause oblivion. The tears coursed downward against my will. I was rendered powerless to stop them. "I cannot adapt," I involuntarily wailed, loathing my shamed humanity and mocking weakness, loathing my imperfection, my inability, myself.

"I believe you can," he said calmly.

Then the searing heat suddenly left me. He had at last lifted his hand from my wound, and I felt a reprieve from agony of body if not of soul. The Doctor inspected and rebandaged my injury, muttering all the while his hopes that the procedure had been effective.

With the dissipation of the heat, I realized I was cold. I was no longer fluctuating between chill and over-warmth. I was steadily cold, and my trembling was shivering.

"Your fever has broken," the Doctor said with obvious relief.

He circled the bed, coming to the side I faced. He administered medication, including a sedative. I lay limp, exposed and angry, in exhaustion. He had driven me to this. I hated what he - what his love - had done to me.

In spite of my physically drained and damaged state, I roused the last of my energy to sit up and strike him. I flailed at him repeatedly, in a final show of meaningless strength. And he allowed it, once again proving that he is far more human, and knowing of love, than I.

When the last of my strength was depleted, I fell forward onto him. I was weary of fighting. I surrendered to the medication, to my need for the Doctor, and to my fear. He held me. I wept silently, my head turned away.

My eyes closed. Words that Lieutenant Torres had spoken returned to me. _"Don't wait until it's too late, Seven. Everything is a gift. Not always wrapped as you'd like it to be, but still a gift. The measure of who we are - who we are as humans - is how we accept those gifts." _

I heard the noise of an altercation before The Doctor said, "They've found us."

To be continued...


	9. Chapter 9

Everyone:

Sorry it's taken me so long to post the end of this story! I'm reposting the next to last part along with the end. Hope you enjoy.

Traci

* * * * *

When I awoke, I wished I had not. The Doctor was injecting a local anesthetic near my wound. An ache in my joints had joined the list of symptoms, all of which were still present. I began to entertain the idea that deactivation was preferable to anguish.

I turned my head to view the procedure. I immediately regretted the action. The bright light shining on the area produced a burning in my retina. Everywhere else was dark. My side furthest from the light was cold. The side closest to the light was hot. Moving caused additional pain. In the midst of it I retained a dull, stupefied sensation. I was now too lethargic to deplore my extreme weakness. Or to fear.

The Doctor looked to me, when I moved. "I am going to open a part of the wound," he explained, "to drain fluid. I'm going to try several approaches, since I can't identify the pathogen." He did not resume immediately, but continued to look at me. His eyes moved over my face. "I did not leave you," he said. He spoke quietly.

It was difficult to talk. I attempted to nod, and to project my gratitude through my expression. It seemed inadequate.

I vaguely noticed that my hair had been brushed and pulled away from my face. He had cared for me while I slept.

"Please tell me more about us, about the things we've done," the Doctor said, without looking up.

It was so arduous to talk, to move. And to think. But I understood he was not seeking to hear of himself now; he wanted to distract me. I complied.

My thoughts came erratically. "Popcorn," I said, and paused. My voice emerged sounding somewhat deep, but also faint and small. "You explained popcorn. Family _Poaceae. _Genus _zea, zea mays mays. _You said it is like snowflakes. Each kernel is unique...like us."

I saw him smile.

"We played golf. I won."

I felt the odd pressure that is pain filtered through anesthesia.

"We observed paintings."

My heart beat as erratically as my thoughts. The pulsating went into every extremity under the numbness and pain and heat and cold.

"We analyzed nebulas...and asterisms...and binary stars."

"It sounds like we've had some good times together," the Doctor said.

"We..." I began.

The scalpel flashed in the light.

I heard the song he had sung in my head.

_In the rain, the pavement shines like silver_

_All the lights are misty in the river_

"We are..."

I thought of his words_. _He had stood in a circle of light. He _was_ light...photons and light..._And I've tried not to feel this way, but I just can't help it, Seven....I just can't..." _

_Let me be your shelter_

_Let me be your light_

"We are good friends," he said, cutting me.

I remembered how the night had been...we had never been so physically close to each other before as we had been then, not even when he had comforted me in Sickbay. The dancing had slowed to a stop. We had hesitated, noses millimeters apart, wanting to breach the gap, both nervous.

"We are more than friends," I said.

I saw him stop. His eyes looked up from my wound. He was as still as if his program had been paused. His mouth was slightly open. His emotions may have been a surprised mixture of anticipation, disconcertment, many others. It was difficult to tell. The shadows fell across his face.

He looked back and resumed. The instrument wavered. I perceived he was struggling to pay attention to his task.

"Tell me," he said simply.

Breathing was difficult and speaking an affliction. Yet I related the events, slowly, one by one....the change in his behavior towards me, the journey through the nebula, the hallucinations, and the holodeck, up to the point of his declaration. He closed my wound.

"I am going to use localized heat to try and kill the pathogen," he said. He covered the injury gently with his hand and began to adjust his temperature.

"You wished to speak to me," I said. I felt the heat from his hand. "I knew you had...feelings for...someone."

The heat increased. My heart hammered in my ears. I began to sweat profusely. He looked at his hand, but his eyes appeared not to be focused on it.

"You stated you loved me," I whispered.

He looked towards me. Mortification and joy intermingled strangely on his face. His emotion seemed to channel through his hand into the heat on my wound.

When he spoke, his voice was full of hope. "Does that mean...that you...love _me_?" he asked.

I believe my heart ceased beating momentarily at this question. Had I not expected to hear it? I had dreaded it since it was first asked. Did I love him. _Love._ I contended with the question, then not wishing to contend with the question, I ceased. More pain. My clouded mind could not quite discern why. I would have fled, if only I could. I gave the answer I had given before.

"At that time, I said I did not know," I replied. "I still do not."

His expression changed to...disappointment, disillusion, embarrassment. "I see," he said. The heat intensified. Then he said stiffly, "No, you couldn't. I - I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked...it's ridiculous to think you would. I don't know why...why I thought..." his voice faltered. "I'm a hologram. I'm not real."

"That is irrelevant," I said. I looked to the ceiling. "I felt...I feel...a certain affection for you. I - I miss you when you are gone," I attempted to explain. The rate of my breathing increased.

"But you don't _love_ me," he said, low and to himself.

My misery compounded. "I do not wish to continue this discussion," I said. I meant it to sound firm, but I almost whimpered the words. _Weakness!_

"Because _love_ is irrelevant," he said bitterly.

My term, returned to me. It burned, as his hand burned my leg. What is love? Love is many things, but _irrelevant_ was hardly accurate. A protest welled up within me. I forced it down.

"I simply do not - understand - love," I panted between breaths. "It is impossible to understand. It is unpredictable - illogical - ..." I began to tremble. My hand gripped the bed. I struggled to remain in control, to not allow my frailty to consume me.

"Hold on just a little longer, Seven," the Doctor said, anxiously soothing. He moved his hand slightly. "I know it hurts...it's almost over."

"...arbitrary - infuriating - those who - love are - they become - just as - other - emotions..." I bit the words. Forced myself not to continue. I was beginning to ramble in my pain and disorientation. To reveal too much. Too much I was certain I did not wish to hear. My head reeled.

The Doctor looked at me. His expression suddenly became the one he had worn when I asked him not to leave me. But it was different as well; he appeared as if he had witnessed a phenomenon he had never seen before. He asked, "Seven, are you afraid?"

"No!" I denied, as forcefully as I could manage. My voice cracked with the strain. "No!" The perspiration ran down my face. I shut my eyes. He was looking into them. I attempted to hide the truth. I knew my eyes would betray me. If only I could have escaped this grief.

But he was relentless. "Seven, are you are afraid to love?" he pressed. My eyes had already disclosed me. He spoke compassionately. "Are you afraid that loving is a kind of weakness? That it's fine for ordinary humans and holograms, but you must be above it?"

His gently probing words invaded me. His hand scalded my wound, his meaning sent white-hot fire to annihilate my heart. All the inner and outer pain, the sensation, the emotion, my need for him, all striving to break me, and yet I endured; but the finality was near, my weakness almost absolute.

"I do - not - wish - to - continue - !" I gasped in despair, battling for any chance at evasion.

The Doctor spoke to me, intense and unheeded. "Seven, it takes a strong person to love, to give of themselves!" he insisted. "I see that love is what is left lacking in your humanity. You can give it. In this short time, you have proven yourself to be the strongest individual I have ever known."

Tears welled in my eye. I compelled them not to fall, even as I trembled violently with the exertion of bearing fire and anguish. I turned my head away from him, towards the darkness, desperate that he not see.

"Oh, Seven..." the Doctor said. "I'm a hologram. You have no need to listen to my opinions on human emotions. But even if you can't love _me_, you must know that love is simply a _gift_, to be received and given. You don't need to understand it."

The heat reached its zenith. I was certain my leg was about to be cauterized from my body. That the pain would momentarily cause oblivion. The tears coursed downward against my will. I was rendered powerless to stop them. "I cannot adapt," I involuntarily wailed, loathing my shamed humanity and mocking weakness, loathing my imperfection, my inability, myself.

"I believe you can," he said calmly.

Then the searing heat suddenly left me. He had at last lifted his hand from my wound, and I felt a reprieve from agony of body if not of soul. The Doctor inspected and rebandaged my injury, muttering all the while his hopes that the procedure had been effective.

With the dissipation of the heat, I realized I was cold. I was no longer fluctuating between chill and over-warmth. I was steadily cold, and my trembling was shivering.

"Your fever has broken," the Doctor said with obvious relief.

He circled the bed, coming to the side I faced. He administered medication, including a sedative. I lay limp, exposed and angry, in exhaustion. He had driven me to this. I hated what he - what his love - had done to me.

In spite of my physically drained and damaged state, I roused the last of my energy to sit up and strike him. I flailed at him repeatedly, in a final show of meaningless strength. And he allowed it, once again proving that he is far more human, and knowing of love, than I.

When the last of my strength was depleted, I fell forward onto him. I was weary of fighting. I surrendered to the medication, to my need for the Doctor, and to my fear. He held me. I wept silently, my head turned away.

My eyes closed. Words that Lieutenant Torres had spoken returned to me. _"Don't wait until it's too late, Seven. Everything is a gift. Not always wrapped as you'd like it to be, but still a gift. The measure of who we are - who we are as humans - is how we accept those gifts." _

I heard the noise of an altercation before The Doctor said, "They've found us."

* * * * *

The rescue team recovered us from the Deleon encampment.

I awoke aboard Voyager. I felt a tremendous freedom from pain. I had been repaired. Captain Janeway and Lieutenants Paris and Torres were present.

"It's good to have you back, Seven," Captain Janeway said. She smiled at me.

"I must speak with the Doctor," I said. I removed myself from the biobed.

Captain Janeway deterred me. "Hold on," she said. "There will be plenty of time later."

"You're way overdue for a regeneration cycle," Lieutenant Paris said. "Medic's orders."

"Don't worry about the Doctor. B'Elanna is restoring his program now," the Captain said. "Tom, escort Seven to the Cargo Bay, please."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied.

We proceeded to the Sickbay exit. Lieutenant Torres spoke. I saw her beyond the Captain and Lieutenant Paris, working at a console.

"I'm bringing him back online," she said.

I looked back. The Doctor appeared. "Please state the nature of the..." he began, but stopped. His subroutines were processing. He was momentarily confused. Then he looked for me.

Our eyes contacted across the room. I could tell that his memory had been restored. The pain in his face was too genuine. _"Seven ,"_ he said.

Lieutenant Torres deactivated him.

"I wish to speak with the Doctor," I said, more forcefully than I had intended.

"Sorry, Seven," Lieutenant Torres said. "I need to run another diagnostic on him right now."

"Please regenerate," Captain Janeway said in a concerned manner. "I want to make sure that both of you recover completely from this ordeal. Then the two of you can have some time off. Captain's orders."

I wanted the Doctor to be thoroughly repaired as well. "Thank you, Captain," I replied. I allowed Lieutenant Paris to escort me to the Cargo Bay.

* * * * *

I waited until Lieutenant Paris left. Then I began recording this log.

I feel a great relief in being well again. But I must end this discourse and complete the process.

I believe I have come to certain terms with many of my...emotions.

I believe Lieutenant Torres was correct. Everything is a gift. My humanity was a gift that was stolen and then returned to me. I strive to unwrap a new part daily.

The Doctor's love is also a gift. My status as a human rests on my ability to accept such gifts of humanity. And I cannot completely regain my humanity unless I accept the gift of love...and return it regardless of fear.

Since being liberated from the Collective, learning to give has been the most difficult lesson. But it has also been the most rewarding. I trust this experience will prove likewise.

Resistance indeed has been futile.

End log.

_Credits: _

_"Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again" from Phantom of the Opera; lyrics by Charles Hart_

_"On My Own" from Les Miserables; lyrics by Herbert Kretzmer (original French lyrics by Alain Boublil and Claude-Michel Schonberg)_

_"All I Ask of You" from The Phantom of the Opera; lyrics by Andrew Lloyd Webber and Charles Hart_


End file.
